


My, My-- Someone Fetch A Priest

by HarveyWallbanger



Series: Buttons and Bows [3]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Blood, Crossdressing, Dubious Consent, M/M, Minor Character Death, terrible people doing terrible things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 06:43:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10406247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarveyWallbanger/pseuds/HarveyWallbanger
Summary: Justice is served.  Or something like that.





	1. You Must Never Rush A Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MillicentCordelia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MillicentCordelia/gifts).



> While it's not forcible rape, and ultimately, he's into it, if this happened to Jim in real life, he should consider pressing charges. Please use your discretion, Dear Readers.  
> For Millicent Cordelia.  
> It's a series! The title of which comes from the song of the same name. The title of this story comes from the song, Beauty and the Beast, by David Bowie. The chapter titles are, respectively, from the Tori Amos song, Bachelorette, and an album by Rowland S. Howard and Lydia Lunch.  
> I am not involved in the production of Gotham, and this school is not involved in the production of Gotham. No one pays me to do this. Do not try any of this at home. Thank you, and good night.

When, once, you had a proud, sullen little princess, you now have a king. You gave him Valentine red. And that night, you bled. If you bestowed upon him bridal white- he upon you, what brutal delight? Would he strip you down to the bone? Nathaniel still whispers to you, “Guilty”. It's become almost an endearment. Yet, you know what it truly means to him. Alice's blood is in his veins, but Nathaniel's heart-  
You doubt you'll ever know Nathaniel's heart.  
Still, you'll try to win it. If only for what's in it.  
You were always an early riser. The city was never more beautiful than at daybreak; sparkling, frangible, like a place made for dolls and toys. So, long before the guards rouse the others, you're up and gazing out of your window. You watch them bring in the new inmate.  
In the day room, you sit down next to Nathaniel. “Now, who do you think comes in chains, but the author of your deepest pain.”  
“What?”  
“It's he whom you thought brought low, who delivered one last killing blow.”  
“Speak English, Tetch,” he sighs, crossing his arms over his chest.  
Now, you sigh. Nathaniel has no appreciation for the beauty of language. “This morning, I saw a new prisoner being brought in. One that I think will be of especial interest to you.”  
“Jim.” It's not even a question.  
You frown. “No. No. Not Jim. It's someone who brought grief and dishonor to the Gotham City Police Department.”  
“That could be anyone,” he says, with a bitter laugh.  
“Fine. I'll just tell you. It's that fellow who killed a police officer last year in a particularly gruesome manner.”  
“That could still be anyone.”  
“You didn't let me finish,” you snap. You frown again. You didn't mean to be short with him. “His name was Flamenco- or something like that.”  
“Flamingo,” Nathaniel says, his voice lowering pleasingly. You wriggle in your seat. Nathaniel stands.  
“What-” you begin, but then, you see Flamingo actually being lead into the room. He would step on your cue. You're still thinking of something else to say when Nathaniel rushes at him.  
Maybe Nathaniel says “Guilty”, the word swallowed up by the inhuman roar that escapes him. Maybe it's just meaningless sound. You don't know. You're just glad that you're standing sufficiently far from them both not to be hit by the spray. Nathaniel, though, Nathaniel's again in red.  
The guard who tries to restrain Nathaniel merely gets his neck snapped. In the moment that the other guards hesitate, Nathaniel's broken away. The inmates scatter- crying, screaming, cheering- as Nathaniel--  
Comes straight to you.  
His hand is slippery. You'll just have to hold on all the more tightly.

You've heard, of course, stories of blood magic. A death fueling a terrible act of will. This must be one such case, for you find that you and he are now invisible. The entire city should be alive with the pursuit of you, but somehow, you're able to steal a car, drive to the city center, steal another car, drive to the other side, steal one more car, abandon this, and then make it all the way to one of your properties, without being detected. Once you've made it into the house, both of you still in Arkham stripes, and he still half-covered in blood, you laugh. You laugh, and laugh, and laugh, and laugh.  
“Stop it,” Nathaniel says quietly. He doesn't sound angry, which stills you instantly. When he rages, you like to provoke him. He seems to enjoy it, too. When he's calm, though, you like to give him his way. It seems to cost him so much.  
“Perhaps what is now most pressing is the need for washing- first, undressing,” you say.  
He lets you take him to the bathroom. With some effort, you pull off his bloody shirt. The stains have matured into deep brown. It doesn't look like blood anymore. It barely looks like it could have come out of a person. His skin is stained, too. You run your hands over the places where Flamingo's blood marked him. The blood disappears down into the corset, which shows no stain, because it's already red. You're so glad that Nathaniel wore it today. It would have grieved you to leave it behind. He lets you remove this, too. He lets you undress him completely, in fact. Then, he stands still as you strip off your own clothes.  
The pipes moan and the shower head rattles as you turn on the water, but after a moment, it comes out hot. The soap is what Alice used to use, the scent of white flowers. “Great,” mutters Nathaniel, “Now I'm going to smell like a slumber party.”  
You giggle. You have to work at it for a while, to get the blood off of him. Who knew that so much could come out of a human body so quickly?  
Though, of course, you already knew this well.  
After a while, the blood is gone, and you're just touching him. You close your eyes. You smell Alice, but feel him. He holds you against the wall, and presses into you. His mouth is on your throat, and his hand is between your legs. When you come, you aren't sure whose name you say.  
You dry off, and he takes you to bed. Maybe he's seen enough blood for one day, because all he wants is to kiss you and rub up against you. You wrap around him, and hold onto him; spread your hands over his shoulders and his back to feel the way that the muscles move. That morning, he separated a man's head from his body with the hands he now moves over your body. Perhaps you should be frightened, or even disgusted. This is the last thing you feel. Your sister is a virus, after all. It's only natural for you to love something that kills violently. Nathaniel whispers in your ear: “Guilty.”

Your clothes are in the closet, but he has none. Last night, he washed out his underthings. You could hear him muttering “... no fucking Woolite...” You took the Arkham uniforms to the incinerator. Nathaniel doesn't have a stitch to wear. He fails to find this amusing. You take his measurements, and pass these on to the Tweeds with the admonition to bring back something nice, and to do so quickly.  
They bring Nathaniel's clothes, and you shoo them away. It's not that you don't appreciate the assistance. You just need to be alone with him. You go to the bathroom, and bring out his underthings, now dry. “May I?” you ask.  
He narrows his eyes. “May you, what?”  
“May I help you to dress?”  
He sighs, but puts on the panties, then holds up his arm, and allows you to encircle him in the corset. It truly is marvelous. Even for its less than gentle treatment, it remains in excellent condition. You smooth your hands down the front, now fastened, feel the tight heat of Nathaniel's body, contained. You have to touch him. You won't be able to go on unless you do.  
“There's no rush, now, surely,” you say, “no particular place to be?”  
“There's something I have to do,” he says.  
“Oh,” you smile, “and what's that?”  
“I have to find Jim.”  
Your face feels as though it collapses. You almost touch it, to make sure that it hasn't literally fallen. “Whatever for?”  
“You know what for.”  
It's not like Nathaniel to be indirect. This worries you. “No,” you snap, “I don't. Tell me.”  
“You're on the outside, now, Tetch. You can do whatever the hell you were trying to do when we stuck you in Arkham.” That 'we' is the worst thing in the world.  
“I won't give you up,” you huff. For some reason, someone's left a letter opener on the table by the window. You pick it up. Nathaniel's hand is around your wrist; not gripping to injure, but certainly to make his point.  
“I broke you out,” Nathaniel says coolly, “Whatever you thought I owed you, we're more than even.”  
“How can this be true, when everything is what I've given you?”  
“Yeah, but did I ask you for it?”  
You fold your arms over your chest. “Well, what do you mean to do when he rejects you again? As he inevitably will.”  
“Jim will see reason. He's been on his way over the edge for a long time.”  
“Yes, but what if he's not yet ready to fall? You'll have to kill him, you know.”  
Nathaniel gives you a very hard look. You feel yourself smiling. You move around behind him, and he lets you. Lets you slip your hands down over his chest. Under your left hand, his heart beats more quickly than it usually does.  
“And when you have his blood on your hands,” you whisper, “you'll realize that no other fluid of his would do.”  
He turns around, grabs you by your wrists, and shakes you. You let yourself be jostled, your head falling back. You're still smiling.  
“I guess just once more,” Nathaniel says, “for old time's sake.” If he means to sound menacing, he fails. You may not know his heart, but you know what it wants. What it seeks. Blood calls to blood.  
You let him toss you onto the bed. You're already taking off your jacket, pulling at your tie. He's on top of you. You run your hands up his back, the material of the corset now as familiar to you as his skin. He kisses your mouth. Yanks open your collar. Bites your neck. Pinches your nipples between his teeth. Digs his fingers into your ribs. Tomorrow, you shall be bruised. You hold his hands there, push his fingers in deeper. If he could feel what's in your heart, he wouldn't go.  
But he can't. So, he'll just have to feel your body. You kiss him. You refuse to stop kissing him. You won't let go of him. You start as he frees himself, turns you onto your belly. You make one of those little sounds he likes. He pulls down your pants. You feel his fingers, and his mouth. He's made you learn to love this.  
When he fucks you, it's from the front. You, naked, now, and he, still in the corset. You tell him that it's all right to hurt you. Maybe if you'd let Alice hurt you, if you'd known how to show her that you were as completely in her power as she, in yours, and that she truly had nothing to fear, she wouldn't have gone. Nathaniel's lived so much that Alice didn't get a chance to. Surely, he understands.  
She's cruel to you, today. Nathaniel doesn't hurt you, at all. After he takes care of himself, he's very sweet with you, and you're worried. You hold onto him, and he lets you. You make sure to say his name and not Alice's, but he doesn't react.  
What has happened? What has happened?


	2. Honeymoon In Red

You hate scenes. You've always hated scenes. They're all right in a professional context- sometimes, making a scene's the only way to get anything done- but in your personal life, they make you sick. At least you stayed until he fell asleep. Really, he has nothing to complain about. He'll find something, all the same. The day you figure out what Tetch's problem is, hell will probably freeze over.  
On the car radio, the weather report tells of record low temperatures.  
That's just hilarious.  
When it was only about him having a jones for his sister- well, you didn't like it, but you understood. You don't get to pick who you fall in love with. The only thing separating someone like Tetch from someone decent is self control. We all want things that we know are wrong.  
People like you, too, right? You're not completely gone. You know that a year ago, you would have recognized yourself as crazy. You would have sent yourself to Arkham. A year ago, Jim was on the run from Black Gate. Once you start running, you never stop. Even once you're trapped, or you outrun the thing that was after you, or you catch what you were chasing, the reflex doesn't go away. All you have to do is remind Jim of how it felt. His body remembers, even if his mind doesn't want to know.  
A person's body always knows what they're missing. It's like when you stop drinking. Before you start to feel like you're safe- which can take years, if it ever happens- everyday you get further from the last drink, the more unstable you feel. Like something's inside of you that could blow you apart if you moved the wrong way. You get further and further away from the last time you were safe, until you're sure you're going to die.  
That's you. Right now. You grit your teeth. At a stoplight, you clench your eyes shut. You know about this kind of pain. You know how to do without. You're not this fucking stupid.  
Your heart beats, too fast. You can feel the blood pumping into your head, your brain contracting like a fist. You aren't like this. When did you become like this? You used to know how to do without.  
You shake your head. You don't know when this happened, and you don't care. Some things are non-negotiable.  
You make a U-turn.  
He's waiting. Sitting on the couch by the door, long legs crossed at the knee. Automatically, inescapably, you remember that you were sucking his cock a few hours ago. He has the nerve to fucking smile at you. He stands. You slap him. Tetch puts his hand on his cheek, but doesn't stop smiling. His eyes are soft; his gaze, liquid. You close your eyes, force yourself to breathe deeply. Your heart's again as it should be.  
“I knew you couldn't-” he begins.  
“I don't want to hear it,” the evenness of your voice unnerves you, “Just get in the fucking car.”

You're waiting together. It's midnight by the time you get to Jim's apartment, and he isn't home. In his living room, you pace.  
“Maybe he has a date,” Tetch offers.  
You glare at Tetch, but he gazes back at you, serenely. You can't even blame him for looking that way. Now, he knows that he's safe. You couldn't do this without him. He's part of you. Your toxic blood. Your traitorous heart. Your simmering brain.  
The key animates the lock. The door opens. A strip of honey-colored light enters the room from the hallway as though sucked. Jim closes the door, and locks it behind him. Trying not to laugh, Tetch covers his mouth with his hand.  
“Don't turn on the light,” you tell Jim.  
“Who's there?” he rasps.  
“Though mere months since you last met, it didn't take him long to forget.” In the light coming in through the window, you can see Tetch frown exaggeratedly.  
“Jesus Christ...” Jim mutters.  
“Put down the gun, Jim,” you say. You don't have to see him to know that he has one.  
“Or what- Tetch will kill me with bad poetry?”  
You could swear you hear Tetch say, sulkily, in sotto voce, something like: “Well, you try thinking up new rhymes all the time.”  
“You heard about Flamingo, didn't you?”  
Jim says nothing, but you hear him lay down his gun.  
“Good. Now, follow my voice. Come over to me.” You look at Tetch, and point to where Jim left his gun. Sighing, Tetch gets up. A moment later, he sits down, sighing again, holding the gun.  
You feel Jim as much as you hear him, see him, in the weak light, approach you. First, you frisk him. You're a little disappointed that he only had one weapon. Then, you put your arms around him. He starts.  
“What the fuck?” he exhales, sounding genuinely frightened for a moment, before his voice is again broken glass. “What the fuck are you doing?”  
“Tetch thinks I should kill you,” you say conversationally, “I have other ideas.”  
“Like what?” His body's still against yours. You'd forgotten how good it feels just to be in his presence. You've had time to think. You suddenly understood not just Bullock and Thompkins, but the ex, Kean, and Cobblepot, who you always had suspicions about. Jim gathers around him the best and the worst, just to bring out the worst in them. But you have something far more horrible in you, already. For you, it could be different.  
You don't have time to answer. He snarls, “Do it.”  
You kiss him. He doesn't try to fight you, but he doesn't respond. At first. You actually feel him give in. His heart beats differently. His breath enters and leaves his body differently. He feels different in your arms.  
“You want this,” you say.  
“Go to hell.” It's the only response he can safely give.  
But you know.  
You look at Tetch. He's still holding back his laughter.  
“So, why's he here?” Jim asks, you, then Tetch, “Are you going to hypnotize me into wanting to fuck you, too?”  
“He's a friend,” you say, and there, in the dark, you see something strange pass through Jim. It's something like recognition, and something like shock. There's still a lot that Jim doesn't understand.  
You kiss him again. He's as curious as he can allow himself to be. This, you can feel, on the edge of all of that rage and horror. You make it easy for him. You touch him, take off his clothes. It's not like you've imagined. You don't want to hurt him. Somehow, all of that got away from you. All he has to do is let himself understand.  
And he does. His hands are on you. You can feel all of his hatred, beneath his skin, pumping in his veins. Maybe this is what Tetch won't shut up about. Jim was born with his very own virus. You wouldn't want him if he weren't this way. You can feel it because he's touching you. Hard and angry, but pulling you closer to him. Kissing you, all teeth, but kissing you. His arm's around the back of your neck. He's rubbing against you, one leg wrapped around you.  
You tell him to get up. You point. You watch him walk into his bedroom. You follow him, and Tetch follows both of you.  
On his bed, you kiss him again. It feels like sleepwalking. You've never been here, but your body remembers. You take off your clothes. You almost want him to say something when he sees the lingerie. You're almost disappointed when he doesn't. He's not stupid, though. He has to know that your good will toward him would only extend so far. It makes you cool down a little bit. Maybe you were looking for an excuse to hurt him. Even to kill him. You have no idea where you're going, what's happening, how you got here. In the dark, you think you hear Jervis giggle.  
Jim runs his hand down your waist. Up again. Then down again. Up your back, fingers smoothing over the material. You hear him exhale. It sounds different. You put his hand between your legs. He moves it on his own, touching you through your panties; stuttering steps of his fingers. You can feel him, too. You were right. You were right about him. You wonder, now seriously, about Bullock, about Cobblepot. You kiss him, hard enough to crush the breath from him. In the dark, you hear Jervis gasp.  
You go down on Jim. It takes him about a minute to come. He twists away from you, into you. You hold him down. After that, you can't stop. You get off of him, almost fall off of his bed, open the drawer of the bedside table, find nothing but another gun. Jervis clears his throat. He holds out a tube of lube he produced from Christ knows where. You take it from him, and slam shut the drawer. The gun tumbles from one side to the other.  
Jim tightens around your fingers, fucks himself. Slowly, you enter him. Feel him give in, yet again. It's better than you imagined. Could have imagined. If you stilled, he'd do everything for you. You were ready to make him, to do something messy, even something permanent, but you'd hoped- You couldn't have hoped-  
You had no idea that he'd love it this much.  
In the dark, you hear Jervis sigh. The jingle of a zipper, the pocket watch.  
It almost hurts. The kind of pain that wakes you up, makes you feel parts of yourself that you didn't know existed. How can it go on this long? It can't. He feels too good, and you, you're far from safe. You've moved the wrong way, and now, you're going to die. You feel yourself shudder, your hands on his body doing nothing to steady you. You open your mouth. You exhale. Your mouth forms a word.  
And you say--


End file.
